


Mr. Tom, a Dildo Lover

by assaic, ChibiPenguin, ElleVarem, Faisalliot, Initial_Non-Applicable_ (Top7879), littlecupkate, Rosie_sparks, Sakuragane_San, Wooly_Marmalade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry Potter, Bottom Tom Riddle, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate Sex, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Tom Riddle is A Stupid Fuck, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, WILDLY inappropriate, YOU DISGUSTING FUCKS., all crack zero plot. the best combo., lucius just wants to fuck his wife in peace ok, lucy and narc are just tired of tom fucking their silk pillows to death ok, technically crack luvs but fuck me if we ever admit it, the chapters where they fuck will be SPECIFIED, this is so fucking bad that its GOOD, this is what happens if a family of cursed authors try and make a fic together., weekly updates!, why the fuck did we do this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assaic/pseuds/assaic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiPenguin/pseuds/ChibiPenguin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElleVarem/pseuds/ElleVarem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faisalliot/pseuds/Faisalliot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Top7879/pseuds/Initial_Non-Applicable_, https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecupkate/pseuds/littlecupkate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_sparks/pseuds/Rosie_sparks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakuragane_San/pseuds/Sakuragane_San, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wooly_Marmalade/pseuds/Wooly_Marmalade
Summary: tom be nimbletom be quicktom jumpoverontothe candledickOr, "the tale of the darkest lord of all time's fascination with candles in his ass because he doesn't know what dildos are" or "narcissa's nervous breakdown over her silk pillows: a dramatization"Basically, Lucius and Narcissa are tired of Voldemort defiling their house with his weird sexual Issues and as all avenues they can turn to inevitably close, they're left resorting to the most Gryffindorishly dumb plan possible: make their good Dark Lord and Savior fall in love with Potter, getfuckedby Potter, and get the fuck out of their house.They're just as surprised as you are that itworked.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 221
Kudos: 407
Collections: To remember and cherish





	1. Tom, Stop Fucking Our Candles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duplicity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horrible things are afoot. Tom needs to stop fucking himself with candles.

“Stupid little brat…can’t believe he...Potter…”

Lucius shared a surreptitious look with Narcissa across the breakfast table as their Dark Lord pored over several strips of parchment and muttered under his breath about something that sounded _terribly_ like “Potter”. He caught a look from his wife and the way she tilted her head towards their son, who was sitting very stiffly in his chair and robotically shoving fried eggs into his mouth, and he grimaced. 

Never before had Lucius ever compared Voldemort to his own son, but the similarities were starting to become uncanny. He could almost hear an echo of Draco’s prepubscent voice waxing poetic about “Potter’s stupid green eyes” and “dumb lightning scar” and breathed in a long, deep sigh. He thought of Voldemort doing the same, realized that he _was,_ and suppressed a brief period of nausea.

 _‘Can’t believe I live like this,’_ He thought privately, giving his wife a despairing look of his own and returning his attention to his bacon rasher. As he chewed thoughtfully on a hearty strip and tried to block out the various grumbles of “Potter” coming from his Lord, he thought dully, “God, this guy needs to get laid. Obsessing over some brat. Honestly…”

Then, he stopped. 

His Lord _did_ need to get laid. The dude was being absolutely unbearable in his house, to the extent that Lucius was _really_ reconsidering his own loyalties because _honestly,_ there were only so many shredded pillows and defiled candles that he could take. 

And now, Lucius had an _idea._

A terrible, no-good, very _bad_ idea, which meant it would be fucking phenomenal. Because if there was _anyone_ who deserved to be saddled with the Lord and his Issues (capital I necessary) with intimacy, and _anyone_ who would be sufficiently distracting enough to get the Dark Lord _out_ of his house and leaving him and his family in less danger than it had been in lately...it was a certain, scar-headed, green-eyed _brat._

Harry Potter.

Oh, this would be _great._ He had to counsel with Narcissa right away.

As soon as breakfast ended and their Lord stormed upstairs once more, probably to go defile more of his lovely candles, dammit, Lucius pulled his lovely wife aside into the drawing room and closed the door.  
“Cissy,” he said gravely, “I know you’ve been… upset, with the presence of the Dark Lord in our home. Therefore,” he continued after a long breath, “I have a solution.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows slightly, giving him a _look_.

“No, darling,” said Lucius sulkily, “Not murder. I know it’s sorely tempting after his destruction of those silky pillows you loved, but I have strong doubts we’d ever be able to pull _that_ off. But, I _do_ have something that should keep _him_ occupied for quite some time; hopefully in a place other than, well, here.”

“And away from my poor peacocks. He keeps terrorizing them...” She murmured sadly before she tilted her chin up. “And what may this _glorious_ plan of yours be?”

“Well,” Lucius said, standing up tall and puffing out his chest, “I plan to redirect our Lord’s sexual tension onto the Potter boy.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You do realise Potter's a teenager, right?”

“Teenagers are a bunch of heretics these days, my love. It will be of no consequence.”

Narcissa looked like she was thinking _very_ hard for a moment, and she studied his face for a tense couple seconds, but then something in her face flickered and she broke into an amused grin and then, in a way eerily reminiscent of his dear sister-in-law Bellatrix, Narcissa threw her head back and _cackled._

Lucius watched her do so, utterly bewildered. It was _good_ to see it, truly, she had such a lovely laugh and smile, but he...that hadn’t been the reaction he _wanted._

“Oh, honey, you really had me going there for a moment. I was about to take you by the shoulders and shake you, but oh...oh, honey.” She shook her head after recovering from her impromptu bout of mad laughter in amused, mild disbelief. “Honestly, what a plan. I haven’t laughed like that in ages, darling, thank you.”

By now it was blatantly clear that she had taken this as some sort of joke, and Lucius, faintly pink, said nothing. She’d catch on in a moment. And catch on she did―the longer she looked upon him and his face did not change, at last it seemed to dawn on her that he was absolutely, one-hundred percent serious. It was then that her face took on that one pinched, displeased look that Lucius had grown to associate with “oh no”, and she seemed to take a moment to process the absurdity that was the plan that came out of his mouth. 

“Lucius, you _cannot_ be serious.”

But he _was,_ and even though her expression was trying to dissuade him, he was firm. He had nowhere left to turn. The Goyle’s and Crabbe’s were absolutely unbearable to live with, an Incident in Knockturn Alley had turned Burke from his good graces, his relationship wasn’t firm enough with the Minister to pull any favors, and no other Death Eaters were foolish enough to offer their homes to the Dark Lord. This was truly the time for drastic measures. 

“You want the Dark Lord to have _sexual intercourse_ with **_Harry Potter?_** ” Narcissa pressed, exasperated, slightly disgusted skepticism bleeding through in her tone. “A _teenage boy?_ Even younger than our own?”

Okay, well, when she _put it like that..._ no. Lucius would not be pulled away from this. This was too good to discard.

So, “Among other things, yes,” Lucius confirmed. “Look, I _know_ this sounds crazy, but the craziest plans have a knack for working, don’t they?” 

Narcissa stared at him, face unreadable but undoubtedly displeased for a _very_ long moment...and then exhaled heavily.

“Well. I suppose it’s a better plan than just waiting to survive his wrath.” She had a very defeated look about her, as if she were considering the consequences of curling up on their floor. “So much for being Slytherins.”

There was silence as they both considered the dire straits into which they had entered, for this to be the best plan they had come up with. Not so long ago, the Malfoy name had been _worth_ something, but now, they were just pawns to their Lord’s (frankly unbalanced) plans.

“We can start by speaking to Father’s portrait?” Lucius offered. “They were in Hogwarts together. He’ll have a better idea of what our Lord might like.”

* * *

“You want―” Father was looking very much like he’d like to leave his frame just because of the nonsense Lucius knew he’d just spewed. “You― _what?”_

“Father, please―”

“―You want to know what _Tom_ is...is _into?”_

Narcissa was frowning, more of a tired sort of one, but still a frown. “Please, Lord Malfoy, it’s the best plan we’ve got. He’s putting our family in danger because of...well. He’s not doing well. We need something to pull him away from here and take us out of the crossfire, and we’ve seriously gotten to the point that we’ve got to resort to more... _carnal_ distractions.”

Father looked down at them for a _very_ long time, and slowly began to shake his head. “You’re shit out of luck with my help, then.” 

Lucius’s heart sank. “What?”

“Tom...I know for _damn_ fact that guy has never seen a _lick_ of pussy in his _life.”_

Lucius was put out for all of three seconds before he realized that hey, wait a minute, Potter was a dude.

So, he said, “Well, that works out _fantastic_ because we’re trying to set him up with someone with a dick.”

Father blinked.

“That’s going to pan out horribly, or pan out great. There’s going to be absolutely no in-betweens there.” He said slowly, and when neither Lucius nor Narcissa did anything to rebuke it, he narrowed his eyes and said, “How...Gryffindor.”

Narcissa’s eye twitched. “Yes, well, aside from that. We’re going for a boy. Are there any traits that you can recall T―Tom found...alluring?”

“Tom...well,” Father hummed in thought for a moment, and then, to Lucius’s great relief, prepared to run down a fucking _laundry_ _list_ of shit. “I’ve got a lot. Sit tight, younguns. I don’t know about romance with him, he was always a little bitch about that topic, but I did catch him making eyes at people who _challenged_ him. There was nothing he hated more than someone blindly bowing to every whim―well, not _hated_ perse, he did appreciate the value of that person, but he didn’t _like_ it. So, that is to say, you’re going to want to find someone with a mouth on him. Hell, sometimes I got this impression that perhaps....perhaps Tom wanted someone to put him in his place.” 

Narcissa grabbed his hand suddenly. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “The Dark Lord is a _bottom._ My love, we must ask Draco if Potter is a top right away.”

Father quickly stopped her, though. “Narcissa, my lovely flower, I know his name is literally in the word, but I don’t―I don’t think Tom’s a _bottom._ I mean, I’m certain he’d do it at some point, but he always struck me as more versatile, you know? And like he’d need a large measure of trust to ever let someone inside of him.”

Okay, good information, good to know, but, “What else, Father?” Lucius asked insistently. “Surely there’s more.”

“Oh, yes. Tom always seemed attracted to more... _wild_ hair. The crazier it looked, the more it attracted his attention. Partially because it was so uncommon in our day,” His eyes glazed over briefly, as if remembering something, but he focused once more. “But because he seemed to appreciate the chaos. And light eyes, certainly light eyes. It was many a night I was privy to his complaints about his boring, brown eyes. He loved green ones in particular, since they were a slytherin color and so unique. OH. And if you can find someone who matches, look for someone darker, or tan. He seemed a bit into the juxtaposition of his white, ivory skin to a darker color. He was fucking weird like that.”

“Fucking racist,” Narcissa muttered. As appalled as Narcissa seemed at this very specific description, she realized something. “Oh Gods, that’s like, a perfect description of Potter, too.”

It was many an hour that passed by before Father finally finished his monologue on traits that his Lord was into, and by the end of it, there was a new hope glimmering within Lucius, one he had never anticipated to truly exist. This had honestly been a crackpot theory from the get-go, but the more and more Father listed off traits,and the more they hit the _exact_ mark on the Potter boy based off of all the shit Draco and Severus had to say, suddenly, this seemed more like a potentially successful idea.

He would _do_ it. He would get his Lord laid, and _away_ from victimizing his wife’s favorite pillows any longer.

* * *

The first task of this plan was to awaken His Lord’s desires. Lucius, with the counsel of Narcissa, decided to do a bit of research on the boy. Actually, let him edit that: Harry. If Lucius was about to get all up in this kid’s shit, he ought to get acquainted with his name, right? No more of this “boy” stuff, he was about to play matchmaker and fuck up literally everything in this kid’s life. The least he could do was have the decency to refer to him by his name. 

Fortunately for the Malfoys, a Hogsmeade weekend was fast approaching. If Lucius could convince His Lord to plan a raid in Hogsmeade when the Hogwarts students were visiting, then a chance encounter could be staged. A... _Chance Encounter_ , if you will. 

Somehow Lucius pulled it off. He couldn’t remember what exactly he said, though he was pretty sure he’d dropped something about how the bitch who didn’t like his pumpkin bread way back in fifth year was there, but the point was, shit was _happening._ Thirteen year olds were losing their minds in the Honeydukes, some mudbloods were doing some aggressive hip-thrust-y dance and dipping their noses into their elbows like they were prepping to sneeze while crying, and some of the teenagers with rational thoughts going on up there were letting spells fly loose. Shit was exploding, some dude was screaming “MY LEG”, and uhhhh yeah, lots of fire. The whole shebang. 

So, it was going just about as well as you’d expect. 

That is, up until Harry and His Lord were face to face. See, what Lucius forgot to take into account was the fact that His Lord was, in fact, intent on killing the boy Harry Potter, not fucking him. You’d think Lucius would’ve thought of this earlier, but alas, Lucius had been so caught up in the euphoria of having not-butt-fucked candle sticks that he forgot for a moment that he lived in a world where His Lord was trying to murder his forcibly-assigned one true love. That was his bad. Point was, his Lord was clearly not recognizing his attraction and future spouse, so, uh, that was a problem. A problem Lucius had to fix _pronto_ if he didn’t want this ploy to fall to shit from the get-go. 

Preferably _right now_ since His Lord and Harry were still, might he remind, face to face at this very fucking moment. Lucius took a look at the terror in his wife’s eyes and realized she’d overlooked this same problem. 

_Fuck, fuck,_ he thought, just as she murmured despairingly, “My _pillows…”_

Obviously the tension was palpable but the recognition and acknowledgement of attraction was nonexistent. 

“Harrrry Potterrrr,” His Lord said in that one creepy, weird tone of voice he employed in battles. 

Someone should really tell him that it sounded stupid, because seriously, man, it wasn’t...wasn’t as frightening as he seemed to think it was. Like, for gods’ sake, it just sounded like a kid breathing all weird through a toilet paper roll in someone’s ear. Not creepy, just uncomfortably hot and entirely unappealing. Now Lucius had to worry about how to make that sound sexy. And Harry, bless his little heart, looked completely unimpressed by it too, which was pretty bad: if a seventeen year old thought you were full of shit even with a creepy ass snake face and bright red eyes, you were fucked, you know? 

And then, Harry singlehandedly rocked Lucius’s shit when he said, “Sssssnake fuckerrrrr,” in the same tone of voice. 

Holy shit.

Lucius saw _Harry’s_ life flash before his eyes, which was _really_ saying something.

His Lord looked like he was at a loss and slowly reached up to cup his noseless face. “What the _fuck,_ Potter. I’m not into bestiality, I _respect_ snakes. How _dare_ you-" He waved his bone-white wand, and began to snarl, “ _Cruc―”_

But Harry wasn’t having it, and in a gryffindor move that rivalled fucking Godric Gryffindor himself, he wiggled his head all mockingly, and to Lucius’s utter fucking amazement, said, “Oh, really? Gonna crucio me? You already did that in the graveyard three years ago, man. Get some new content, you fucking boomer.” 

What. _What._

‘……What is a boomer?’

Lucius looks around at his fellow wizards to see if anyone understood. Not a single soul had a face of recognition. He looked over at the Hogwarts students. Most seemed to be as clueless as he was, but a few looked…amused? Did he mean… an explosion? That their lord is an explosive person? That seemed correct… or did he mean that their lord is an explosive _experience?_ Again that seemed accurate―but strange of Potter to bring it up in his current situation.

“How dare you call me a… a “bloomer” or whatever it is you said, you impudent little _shit-_ ”

Harry laughed out loud, which would be a death sentence for literally anyone else, but it seemed this kid gave absolutely zero fucks about his own life and said, with the confidence of a drag queen in six-inch heels, “I bet you don’t even know what a boomer _is_ , you stupid fucking boomer.” 

Lucius was astonished when other students also started to laugh. He knew damn well that Potter must be either fearless or suicidal, but the others? What the hell were they doing? Surely his confidence wasn’t that infectious, to the extent of inspiring stupidity to that extent. Holy shit. Teenagers were out of their minds. Like, seriously, Lucius was a grown ass man and the expression on his Lord’s face made him want to run, and it wasn’t even directed at him. 

“How dare you insolent brats!” Bellatrix screamed, having finished with her previous opponents. “CRUCIO!” She howled when her decry was met with utter bemusement, aiming at no one in particular, just into the crowd of students. 

And then there was screaming. Oh shit. Lucius flickered his eyes into the crowd in search of his son, and breathed a minute sigh of relief. Though he looked pale, he was fine. That was all that mattered in the end. 

“Don’t you _dare!”_ Harry pointed his wand at Bellatrix and with a flash of impressingly quick red light, her wand went flying and the screaming ceased just as quickly as it had appeared. “You will _not_ touch them!” His lips pulled back in a snarl more frightening than His Lord’s own face and he started to engage her, but before he could so much as knock her off her feet, his Lord’s eyes flashed and he shot a spell at him.

...Huh. That almost looked like _jealousy._

Hm. If His Lord was _jealous_ about Harry trying to fight someone other than him and not paying him his full attention, well...Lucius could work with that. Preferably when he wasn’t in the crossfire, though. Lucius took his wife by the shoulders and dragged her off to the side with him, and that was all well and good because within seconds, chaos was unleashed and spells were flying everywhere. 

He was hoping it’d just stay between Harry and His Lord, but as more of his comrades poured into the fight, Lucius sighed and joined the fray. As he disarmed some pimply sixth year student, he made a note to himself: _‘in future endeavors always make sure one party is thirsty for the other before placed in a direct confrontation.’_ Well, the opportunity was mostly missed, but it wasn’t a total bust. His Lord _wanted_ Harry’s attention, and whether or not it was for mooshy-gooshy reasons, His Lord was unhinged enough for Lucius to feel confident that he could at least _manipulate_ the guy into thinking that was what the jealousy was for. Honestly, he was like a six year old. It was doable. But first...

* * *

Lucius’ next and unofficial first step in his plan was to cater to His Lord’s tastes, since attempt one had been a clusterfuck but he wasn’t about to acknowledge it. What he needed to do was to follow his father’s description of His Lord’s tastes. They were _exactly_ like Harry Potter, he already knew that, but the hurdle was that Lucius needed to present His Lord with the evidence. But _how?_

Lucius frowned. How hard could it be to describe the Boy-Who-Lived flatteringly, especially when the Prophet’s headlines were of the boy every other day? Messy hair, sun-kissed skin, brilliant green irises hidden behind circular lenses, and a rather hard to miss scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. Well, Lucius didn’t have any particular trust in his artistry―Narcissa’s scream when he had tried to paint Draco’s nursery all that time ago had made it pretty clear that that was a no-go. But...well, he had _money_ and certainly there was some poor peasant out there that he could exploit. So, employing his _wonderful_ poetic oration skills, Lucius explained what, exactly, Harry looked like to a very famous, discrete, and talented artist by the name of Sunnie who he’d immediately commissioned for a few portraits of the boy to gift to his Lord. 

They had cost an obscene amount, but it was fine. He was a Malfoy! He had peacocks from Albania in his garden, it was fucking fine. And in any case, his Lord’s wanton destruction of pillows, candles―and even vases on one terrifying occasion, good Lord―would soon surpass the cost of the portraits anyway. This was a worthy thing to waste precious gold on, dammit. He’d assumed it’d be a-okay from there, but even with the multitude of descriptions in the Daily Prophet, the artist he was communicating with right now was asking for _more_ descriptions. Lucius had already given her a _beautiful_ soliloquy on Potter’s emerald green, blazing eyes and long, coal-colored eyelashes. What the fuck did she want to know the angle of his nose for? Or how sharp his jawline was? Or the distance between his eyebrows? 

Ugh. The only thing he hadn't been asked about was Harry's dick size. And Lucius supposed he’d have to find that out too, one day, since if he was having portraits made for his lord, if all went well...surely he’d want dickpics. You know how it goes. If nothing else, it was clear that these... _technicalities_ were not within Lucius’s skillset, so he was forced to schedule a meeting in a week to meet with the artist to discuss how the process would go in further detail. And perhaps his dear little Dragon could describe Potter better. If his spirited, somewhat gay rants over dinner for the past six summers were to be believed, he knew those dirty details. _Christ._

The day had been hectic enough, and with some semblance of a plan put in the works, Lucius was fully prepared to take a much-needed break. Maybe he’d go take an obnoxiously lavish bath or fuck his wife, if she was up for it. He had nothing else planned for the next couple hours, and time to kill. Hm. Ooh, he could fuck his wife _in_ their obnoxiously lavish bath. _That_ was an idea. Satisfied with this notion, Lucius stood from his chair, cracked his back, and ambled down the hallway. 

Only to notice that his beautiful, long, gleaming ivory candles were missing. He looked at their missing place for a very, very long and tiring moment, and then sighed deeply. 

Goddammit. 

He could hear his Lord grunting from here. _‘Honestly, what the fuck is his beef with that dildo I snuck into his room? Surely he knows that’s what it’s for? Oh, fuck, I really HOPE he knows. I’m not about to give my Dark Lord the talk. Fuck.’_

* * *

After making a valiant attempt to give Draco a long-belated sibling in the bathtub with his wife, Lucius got his shit together and went back to business. “Draco,” Lucius ambushed his son the moment he came home for break, “that particular phrase that Harry used, what was it, er, ‘bloomer’. What is the meaning of it?” 

“Harry?” Draco asked, taken back, “Since when do you call Potter ‘Harry’?”

“Since we planned to seduce him—” Draco’s eyes widened in a perfect picture of horror, and Lucius quickly tacked on, “—in the stead of our Lord.” His son let out a minute sigh of relief before he seemed to truly process what the hell had just come out of his father’s mouth. Gods, he made the same exact face Narcissa did. It was almost funny.

 _“_ _Pardon_ _?_ I do _not_ think I heard you correctly, Father.” 

Lucius closed his eyes, sucked in a long-suffering breath, and repeated very calmly, “I said, we are planning on setting up our Lord and Harry Potter.” 

Draco stared at him for a very long time, looking eerily like his mother had not too long ago, and slowly shook his head. Then Draco put on a low, calming voice and said, “Father, have you been feeling a little under the weather? Have you talked to Mother today? I think we should go see her...maybe take a trip to Saint Mungo’s.” 

Lucius screamed on the inside. “Son, I _know_ this sounds insane, but I assure you, I’m entirely serious and of sound mind. I spoke with your mother and your grandfather, and they will both tell you that this is seriously the best option we’ve got left. I’m beseeching you to _cooperate_ and help us pull this off. If not for my sake or your own, for your mother. She can’t take the loss of one more silk pillow. And our _candles_.”

Draco blinked at him. “What...what do the pillows have to do with this?”

Lucius had a flashback to his Lord’s pale white ass flying with the force of his hips pressing downwards and shuddered. “I’m not traumatizing you with that knowledge, son. Just. _Help.”_

Draco looked at him strangely for a while longer, before he affirmed that he would. Lucius breathed a quiet sigh of relief. With his several-year-long obsession with Harry and his wealth of information as a consequence, surely, _surely_ Draco’s aid would be enough to get something down. 

“Alright, son. All I need you to do for now is accompany me to a… meeting, with an artist next week. Surely _you_ must know the angle of Harry’s nose, yes?”

Draco’s cheeks flared pink, but to Lucius’s astronomical relief, he nodded. “Yes, Father.”

Lucius was almost _excited_ for a moment, dismissed his son shortly thereafter, and went down the hallway with a noticeable pep in his step as he went to inform Narcissa. And then, he stopped dead. Merlin's saggy balls. He was excited about setting up his Lord with a teenager. 

This suddenly seemed like a great time to take several shots. 

Wait.

_Wait._

His Lord was _ugly._

How would they _ever_ get Harry to agree to kissing _that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was birthed by Duplicity's server, which can be found here:  
> <https://discord.gg/TMhegQu>  
> We love you, Amanda.  
> If you want to join in on this project, we make a chapter a week, and the unofficial coordinator is Moth. Just tag her, and she'll let you in. Anything goes here, okay, we're just having a Blast. Thanks for reading, guys.  
> Here's another link to [TROR](https://discord.gg/2suak9y)


	2. Is That Not What Pegging Is?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> draco is having a hard time, harry is a sheltered, repressed child, tom is as gross as ever, and lucius needs a nap. good times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no they haven't fucked yet, stop asking

Draco had no idea when his life had started to go so downhill. 

Had it been when the Dark Lord had first started living with them? Had it been when he got his ass kicked on the quidditch pitch on that fateful first lesson and indirectly been the cause of Potter’s induction into his stupid quidditch team? Had it been when he’d run out of the Forbidden Forest screaming in his first year and invariably lost the respect of everyone in the school when that awful Weasley boy told everyone? Had it been when Granger nearly knocked him flat in front of Crabbe and Goyle? Or had it been when his father had literally _dragged_ him to a meeting with an artist, when he had to sit for hours on end and watch her draw his ~~crush~~ nemesis as he answered her increasingly intrusive questions? No, seriously, who on _Earth_ needed to know the exact degree of sharpness of Harry Potter’s cheek bones, or the exact number of freckles on his arms? 

Like, _yes,_ Draco knew these things (67 degrees, and 23) and probably _shouldn’t_ , but that was wildly besides the point. No, he was trying to pinpoint where exactly his life had completely devolved into the shitshow that it was. And now, though, he thought he’d found it. It all traced back to Potter. 

The Dark Lord himself was in his house because _Potter_ existed, what with how he’d been one of the literal ingredients to his return, and like, he was hellbent on seeing Potter’s head on a pike. That whole shenanigan. Draco had only been humiliated on the pitch because he was trying to look cool to _Potter._ He’d only run out of the forest because Voldemort was there, and he was only there because of _Potter._ Granger had only punched him because he has gotten that stupid giant chicken killed, and he’d only done _that_ because he wanted to make _Potter_ look less badass and it backfired. And Draco had only been subjected to the _humiliation_ of admitting his invasive knowledge of Potter’s body because his father, _for some fucking reason_ , was having a portrait of him commissioned. 

So by proxy, all of his problems _had_ to have originated that damned moment he first met Harry Potter in Madam Malkin’s shop and made an arse out of himself. It all made sense. He had connected the dots. If Potter hadn’t been at Madam Malkin’s that day, Draco wouldn’t have been a pillock, and if he wasn’t a pillock then, Potter would’ve been less of a little bitch and more receptive to his silver tongue on that abominably colored scarlet train when he was eleven, and if Potter hadn’t been so _delightfully_ combative, Draco wouldn’t have developed a ~~yearning~~ hatred for the famous boy, which had inevitably been what led him to get involved with this mess in the first place.

Whatever the origin had been, Potter or not, Draco was cursing it for having put him in this current situation. He’d been hidden behind this stupid suit of armor for ages, his quads were aching _,_ and it was only _now_ that Potter and his gangly posse had finally deigned it time to grace the outside of a random classroom with their presence. Fucking arseholes. It was incredibly difficult not to fidget, given how much his knees hurt, but he was regrettably stuck in his current position in order to not get caught by the subject of his ire. He wouldn’t be able to move until Potter and his gang decided to stop loitering in the hall and actually do something _interesting._

Seriously, when his father had given him the task of finding out information on Harry and what his “type” was, Draco (after he had gone through a long process of deliberating and hysteria) had anticipated a whole lot less pointless standing around. He had decided to take his mission with the utmost seriousness ever since he had arrived back from break, and taken to watching Potter incessantly. Which _would_ be creepy and all, but Draco had been doing this shit for years (albeit to a much lesser degree) and in this go-around, he _finally_ had a viable excuse―it was just for the safety and protection of his family. Definitely no personal motives to be found here (though Potter’s arse looked lovely from this angle). So. It was okay to be a stalker here.

If only it wasn’t so _bloody boring_ right now.

Seriously, they’d just been standing and chatting for ten _minutes._ Was this what normal people did? Draco was so busy contemplating why life hated him so much, that he almost missed the conversation topic, and it was only when Ron had asked “What about you Harry, what’s your type?” did he freeze his usual internal pity party. 

This was _it_ . This is what all those weeks of following Potter and beefing up his arse muscles had been about _._ All his hard work and dedication was finally about to pay off. And he could _finally_ find out how to change himself to make Potter like him. Oh, shit. He just thought that outloud. _Christ._

Harry looked supremely unimpressed by this topic though, and after a moment shrugged and drawled, with an eye roll. “Well… I suppose I’d want someone with a head of hair at least,” Hey! _Draco_ had hair! One point for Draco! God, he was so hot.

“Really? That’s where you set the bar at?” Granger sniped, her feet sliding on the flagstone as she shifted to fold her arms judgmentally. 

“What? Would _you_ want to date someone bald?” Harry snapped defensively, lips pulling down into an accusatory frown.

“I mean, there are probably _some_ people that are into that, mate.” Weasley mumbled thoughtfully, and Draco had to shove down a snort when he added immediately after, “Like, my mum. She likes Dad.”

That’s right, Arthur Weasley _was_ balding. Father had been crowing about that lately. 

“Well I’m not one of those people.” Harry said firmly, though Draco could pick up on a little amusement in his tone. 

“So, what you’re saying is that you wouldn’t fuck my dad, Harry?” 

“Wh―NO! I’m not a _home-wrecker_ , Ron.” 

Granger tsked and Draco could see her hair whipping a bit, as if she were shaking her head. “Can you believe Harry is bald-phobic, Ron?”

“Yeah, what the fuck _,_ Harry?” Weasley added on, obviously suppressing a laugh. “What’s next? You gonna say you’re not into moles? You _aren’t,_ huh. Can’t believe my best friend is so discriminatory.”

“I am _not,_ shut up.”

“Yeah? Well _we_ don’t know that, because you’re not _telling_ us what your type is. _Maybe_ if you cooperated, and just _told_ us, we could get you laid or something―”

“Fuck you guys,” Potter had his head in his hands and his voice was shaking with laughter. “But _fine,_ if you’re insisting, I guess for other traits, dark hair, dark eyes? It just looks nice. Like, opposite of Malfoy.”

...Ouch. 

“ _Dark_ eyes _?”_ Draco could hear the frown in Granger’s voice. 

“...What about it?” Potter asked after a pause, a strange edge to his voice. 

“Oh, nothing wrong with it, just unusual.” Granger said dismissively, tacking on at the end, “Most people tend to like bright eyes.”

“Well, I don’t.” Potter said shortly. “Objectively I’m not―I’m not really discriminatory with the body, but at the same time I’d want them to be a decent duelist? Y’know, since people keep trying to kill me every couple hours, I’d like them to be able to defend themselves or _me_ if it comes to that. Don’t want anyone else to die because of me. And I guess...well, athletic would be nice. Like, if they could give me a run for my money or pin me to the ground, I’d be a very happy bloke, y’know? And like, they don’t necessarily have to play Quidditch or anything like that, though that would be a good bonus if they did.”

Granger and Weasley were quiet for a moment, and seemed to exchange a look before Weasley remarked, “Okay, so, you want someone that’s going to peg the living shit out of you.”

Potter spluttered. “WH―”

But before he could get much of anything else out, Lovegood seemed to appear out of buttfuck (hah) nowhere and remarked, “I could see it given your history, Harry. You’d probably love to get pegged. But yes, quidditch. That might be more of a dealbreaker than you give it credit for. I’ve noticed you’ve a certain… propensity for people who play quidditch.”

Potter jumped several feet at her sudden appearance and, shoulders hiked up, announced to no one in particular that, “I’m being _attacked!”_

“Only with the truth,” Lovegood said brightly, and patted him on the arm consolingly. “Really, Harry, you _do_ know that it’s okay to want to get pegged by someone in tight quidditch trousers, right?”

Weasley’s head was faintly visible, and it was bobbing in agreeance. “Yeah, remember that dream you had about Krum about―”

Potter hurriedly shoved his hand on top of Weasley’s mouth, which was a real shame because Draco wanted to hear about _that._ “STOP― fucking _exposing_ me like this.”

“See, I _could_ but it’s so much fun to rile you up.” Weasley said upon reaching up and pulling Potter’s hand off of his mouth. He didn’t put his hand down, though, and peered at his wrist before announcing, “Looks like we’re going to have to put a pause on harassing Harry―clock says it’s about time to head down to the Great Hall for some lunch. Shall we?”

“Damn. Onwards, friends. We have to watch Ron shove his face with food and make a disgrace out of the Gryffindor house.” Granger agreed, sweeping her arm back and forth as if to beckon Lovegood and Potter closer. “Any bets on how many potato chunks he’ll shove in his mouth at once?”

“Seventeen,” Lovegood said immediately. 

“Oh, fuck you guys. C’mon, then.”

“Alright, alright, but _for the record,”_ Potter insisted, trailing behind his friends, “I am _not_ into acupuncture, you fucking freaks.”

What?

“What?” Said Granger, echoing Draco’s thoughts. “Where did _that_ come from?”

Potter paused. “Is...is that _not_ what pegging is?”

“Harry, _NO―!”_

And with that, they took off in the direction of the Great Hall, finally giving Draco an opportunity to relieve his knees and quads of their torture. As their squabbling voices faded into the distance (“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PEGGING IS WHEN A GIRL PUTS IT IN YOUR BUTT, THEY DON’T HAVE DICKS―” “Harry we are in a _hallway,”),_ Draco took a second to process the information. Athletic and maybe plays quidditch, decent duelist, probably female, dark eyes, dark hair, has hair on their head in the first place...yeah. Not something that even remotely fit the description of the Dark Lord, but it was a start, and either way, they had magic. They could always Cinderella that candlefucker and call it a day.

Draco slowly edged out from his hiding spot, already starting a draft of the letter he was going to send to his father in his head as he headed back to his dorms, intending to pass on the information he had just learned as quickly as he could.

* * *

_Good Morrow, dearest father and mother of mine,_

_I really did start to wonder if Potter and his gang of blood-traitors and mudbloods would ever have anything useful to say to each other, so you’ve my sincerest apologies for how long it took for me to gather this, but I, your loving son, after several weeks of fruitlessly trying to find information on Potter’s type, have finally gained useful information._

_This took me far too long, and my delicate ears were deeply offended at having to hear their obnoxious voices every day for hours on end, even though I received and finished this task gratefully and gracefully. I dearly hope you will find this satisfactory, and I have listed the attributes Potter prefers below:_

_Potter, firstly, is decidedly not into bald people; he likes someone with a full head of hair, preferably dark hair, and dark eyes, although I cannot fathom why; clearly the Malfoy blonde hair is superior to something so dreadfully common._

_He also favours people with an athletic build; someone good at duelling and quidditch, which is agreeable enough, I suppose. The reason he proffered this was the admittable fact that someone tries to kill him every hour or so. Thus, his partner must be able to defend themselves or him, so he says. Although not totally overt, he expressed interest in someone who could outdo him and pin him to the ground easily, to which that damnable Weasel boy summarized this as that Potter would like to be pegged._

_Potter expressed confusion at the term ‘pegging’, but while his lack of knowledge of basic English is another matter entirely, it ought to be noted that his lack of knowledge in the field of... sexual practices may prove distressing in the future. I shall listen further to discern how truly vanilla this boy is._

_On that note, it should be noted that Weasley mentioned a dream Potter had about Quidditch Player Viktor Krum, although Potter stopped him before Weasley could go into detail. It’s my suggestion that you or mother partake in some... digging into the life of one Viktor Krum, if only to ensure he will not be a roadblock and make exceptional note of some of his attributes, so that you may have a baseline for what we may sway Our Lord into imitating._

_Additionally, I gathered from the conversation that Potter has not engaged in sexual activity with another person for quite some time, if ever, which is quite odd, considering his status the most famous adolescent in over a century…how quaint._

_I dearly hope this letter finds you in good health, and that the information is not only of some aid, but pleases you in addition._

_Sincerely, your loving, faithful son,_

_Draco Malfoy,_

_Heir of House Malfoy_

* * *

Lucius snatched at his son’s letter the moment his owl flew it in, tearing it open with the fervency of a man possessed. Narcissa took a delicate bite of her buttered toast, looking appalled with him but not commenting on his behavior. 

In most other circumstances, Lucius would understand her dismay, but this was _important_ , dammit. The portrait was going to take a few weeks to finish, which was much longer than Lucius wanted to wait before rolling the next step of his plan into motion. With any luck, the portrait would be the thing that tipped his Lord over the edge. But in the meantime, he needed something else to get his Lord in the right... _headspace_ for this to work. More or less. 

So, instead of taking the envelope from Draco’s owl calmly, setting it aside for after breakfast, strolling serenely to his office and cutting it open with a heirloom letter opener, he seized the envelope off the bird, and ripped it open. Like a common brute. It was shameful that he'd lowered him to these levels, but recent events necessitated it. How far the Malfoy family had fallen.

“According to Draco—” Lucius began to read, but stopped dead the moment that Narcissa had discretely shook her head. 

He knew what it meant― His Lord was coming up behind him. And this was true―he could feel that cold, cold magic now. Lucius desperately scanned the letter, trying to find something personal Draco had written. Most of it was just thinly-veiled whining and flowery words… wait a minute. He had an idea.

“—Potter is as annoying as ever.” He said quickly. 

“What’s this about Potter?” His Lord demanded, rather than asked. 

Lucius hid a smirk. Hook, line, sinker— he was a _genius._

But then, Narcissa, with admirable poise, lied that, “Draco has been watching for any sign of Potter’s weaknesses, my Lord,” 

Voldemort raised his brow. Well. Not his brow―he didn’t have those. But the skin on his forehead where his eyebrow _would_ be raised ominously. It looked nasty, but to be fair he _always_ looked nasty. 

“And what has the boy found?” 

“Hair!” Lucius blurted out in a flurry of stifled panic. 

Gah, it was the not-eyebrow, it just looked so off that he couldn’t keep his composure. Narcissa’s genius excuses would be appreciated at any other time, but not _now._ Draco talking shit about Harry could’ve been enough. It wouldn’t be odd if he was just complaining, but now that Narcissa had said _that,_ he had to pull something out of his arse. Damn. 

Eugh, that not-eyebrow was practically pinning Lucius to the ground, “Hair, Lucius?” His Lord said imploringly, eyes narrowing into snake-like slits. “What of it?”

His voice was very thin―oh, Christ, he was _bald,_ he must be on the verge of accusing Lucius of disliking his bald head. Which he _did,_ but they weren’t supposed to talk about that.

“He is dreadfully frightened of hair, my Lord.” Lucius said quickly, calmly, and could’ve kicked his own teeth out for it.

“Hair?” Voldemort repeated, sounding incredulous and disbelieving, “But he _has_ hair.” 

“Yes, he does,” Lucius conceded, “that’s the reason behind his phobia.” 

“And how is that?” 

“Well, it’s because his hair is so wild.” He bullshitted slowly, mind whirling in search of an explanation that’d get his Lord off his arse. “He fears that since everyone’s hair is better than his, he will be eternally hated because of his uncontrollable hair.” 

Ah, see, now _this_ could be an incentive for his Lord to resume his former appearance, when he was still smoking hot and eye candy for everyone. And, Lucius realized suddenly, his former appearance was exactly what they needed: according to his father, Abraxus, he’d had dark hair, dark eyes, an athletic body, _and_ been an exceptional dueler to boot. Absolutely rubbish on a broom, but miraculously hit every other mark for Potter. Hell _yes._ So, if this was enough to encourage his Lord to abandon the snake-face and become hot again to “humiliate” Potter, it might just actually be enough to make Potter horny for him. 

Yes, _yes,_ Lucius was on a roll this morning. Didn’t matter what Ms. Flutterbee had said all those years ago―he really _was_ a genius! Narcissa would probably disagree, but that was mostly because she was still rankled over her pillows than anything. She would see, yes, she would see, they _all_ would see. 

And then, the anvil of “fuck you and everything you work for” dropped straight on Lucius’s back as his Lord said, after a pause, “...Let me see that,” and reached out to steal Draco’s letter. 

Lucius thought of the line, “Potter, firstly, is decidedly _not_ into bald people” and _immediately_ thought, ‘Oh _fuck.’_

Lucius's eyes widened and he instinctively pulled the letter close. “Lucius,” his Lord hissed, “What are you hiding?” 

“Nothing, my Lord!” 

The Dark Lord narrowed his lashless eyes in a way that made him look like a rather petulant toddler. “Then why are you hiding the letter from me?” he demanded.

“Because, er,” Lucius began, eyes flitting left and right desperately, “The information in this letter concerning Potter, while accurate, is quite... misleading! I think it would be best if you heard it from my son himself, so he could present it to you without misunderstanding, should you wish to know more, my Lord.”

With that, Lucius folded the letter neatly and dropped it on his lap, clearing his throat. His Lord leaned back and glared at him suspiciously down his lack of a nose. Lucius’s shiver was more from disgust at the sight than fear.

“I see,” Voldemort said slowly, his voice regaining that awful, high, nasally quality. “I suggest you get your son back to the Manor quickly then, Lucius. If he has information on that infernal brat-who-just-won’t-up-and-die, it is of the utmost importance that I know it all as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my Lord, right away, my Lord!” Lucius definitely _did not squeak_ , summoning a self-inking quill and the traditional Malfoy parchment to him as he began to compose a letter, making up a story about Narcissa being dreadfully ill and requesting his presence on the spot to sell to the Headmaster in a bid to get Draco home for the weekend.

_Oh, Draco, I’m sorry. I should’ve come up with something better._

* * *

Draco wiped his clammy hands on his robes again, body still losing its mind from the physical effects of the extreme stress he’d felt from his day-long belief that his mother was ill. 

Then again, it was always nerve-wracking to meet with the Dark Lord as well, regardless of whether the information brought to Him was positive or negative. Slowly, Draco brought his hand up to knock on the polished wood of the Dark Lord's quarter's doors. He knocked once, twice, thrice, and his eyes widened when he heard a cut off, pitchy noise come from behind the door. Something audibly thocked against the wall, and all was silent for several moments before the Dark Lord’s cold, high voice spoke.

“Come in.”

Draco suddenly felt like he’d chosen a bad time to come in, but slowly, prodded the door open and peeked his head inside, eyes wide and frightened. The Dark Lord was sitting on his bed, hips shifting every so often as if he were uncomfortable, with a high, angry flush resting on his bone-white cheeks. Huh. Draco hadn’t thought he had blood in the first place, but apparently he did.

“Well?” the Dark Lord snapped after a few seconds of tense silence. “Out with it!”

“I have,” Draco hesitated for a moment, trying to shoo away his literally bloody thoughts, “important news, my Lord.”

“The point, boy. Find it, or leave _now._ ” Lord Voldemort said, sounding constipated and angry at the same time.

Draco fumbled with his fingers, pulling at them. “I've discovered some information about Harry Potter. Information that may be of some use to you, such as…” Fuck, think of something that would help Father, “he is―is deathly allergic to chocolate, my Lord,” Draco said in a swift breath, begging the gods for the man not to notice his lie.

At once, Voldemort looked pensive, and he went to shift into the famed philosopher's position before he stopped halfway, eyes widening. Like a reversed tape, the Dark Lord reverted to his original position with deliberate slowness.

“I see,” The Dark Lord Voldemort said, voice higher than normal. “This is most excellent news. I trust that you have more to share, but at this time I must...attend to other duties. See to it that you and I speak sometime in the evening, boy. You are dismissed.”

...That was it?

Draco bowed, and left quickly with a whispered, “Yes, my Lord,” mind whirling in confusion.

That had been much too easy for his own comfort. As if in a daze, Draco strode away to his father’s study, clutching tightly at the front of his robes. 

Draco walked in the room, “Father… I think I almost died, but I did what you asked.”

Lucius looked at his son and nodded solemnly. “Excellent.” He got up and up a hand to Draco’s shoulder, “I don’t say this enough… but I _am_ proud of you, my son.”

Stress finally reaching up to swallow him past his own mental blockades, tears welled in Draco’s eyes. “Father, are you sure that this is the correct thing to do?”

“Why, this is the _best_ we can do,” Father twitched suddenly, and rubbed at his Dark Mark. “I’m sorry, son, but I must go―Our Lord has called me.”

“I understand, Father.” Draco said numbly, though he did _not_ understand and suddenly, viscerally wanted to take his father by the shoulders and shake him. “Do as you must.”

As Father departed, Draco sunk slowly into one of the plush chairs in the office and held his face in his hands. He tried not to dread the evening conversation he was expected to have with the Dark Lord. God, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

On Friday morning, just as they did on every other morning, hundreds of owls soared into the Great Hall bearing packages of all shapes and sizes. One package in particular, an elegant box swathed in a tasteful green and silver wrapping, came slipping into the hall, carried by not just one but _four_ majestic eagle owls, their wings beating in sync, each carefully holding a string tied to one corner of the box so it stayed perfectly upright.

Harry watched in with mild interest, admiring the neatness of it and the objective beauty, while Ron just straight up goggled at the package, a hint of envy in his expression.

And then he elbowed Harry, nearly sending his apple juice tumbling to the floor, “Bet you that’s for Malfoy,”

“No bet,” Harry said immediately, not about to throw away five sickles. He wiped the sticky apple juice on his hand onto his robe. “Only his family would be willing to send him something so garishly extravagant so soon after break, anyway.”

But as they tracked its progress, it kept getting closer… and closer… until―to his utmost befuddlement―they landed in front of Harry.

Entirely unwilling to believe this was for him, Harry gave the owls a sympathetic smile and stroked the feathers of the nearest one. “This isn’t for me, you goobers. Try a different table. The one with all the green ties.”

Apparently they weren’t into his niceties or pettings, because the one he was stroking nipped petulantly at his fingers as they carefully released the package with their friends. The matching scowls made it clear―they were damn sure this was for him, and would’ve pecked Harry’s eyes out for doubting them.

When _another_ one of the four went for his other hand, Harry jerked it away with a hasty, “Okay! Okay,” And hesitantly proffered a bit of his sausage to his would-be finger assailant before prodding at the box carefully. He could _feel_ everyone’s eyes on him. _Why_ did these sort of things keep happening to him? 

“Go on, open it!” Ron insisted, and well, _fine._

Harry just sighed, quickly unwrapping it with one firm tug of the middle-most ribbon to reveal...a chocolate cake? 

Hermione began to chuckle, and plucked a delicate note off of the top, read it with a flick of her eyes, and only began to chuckle harder. “Would you look at that? You’ve an admirer, Harry. Look,” 

She flashed the letter towards him, and Harry could’ve screamed when he read the contents.

_I look forward to living our next lives together._

The entire table stared. Harry tried very hard not to sigh. 

“I…I prefer lemon cake?” He said helplessly. 

“Ew,” said Ron, and Harry punched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://discord.gg/TMhegQu
> 
> this is the discord server this hellfic idea came from! we love amanda, go read her writing (duplicity), and join the server to support her or lend a hand with the crackfic. have fun!


	3. Shoulda Just Gone to Jamaica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🚨THERE IS FUCKING IN THIS CHAPTER. NOT VERY LONG BUT YES THERE'S VOLDEFUCKING. LETS GOOOOOO🚨
> 
> severus is exasperated and horrified with his stupid blonde friends, Harry was a wet dream, and Draco's having his third nervous breakdown of the week

Severus watched in utter disdain, eyebrow twitching with the force of his own vitriol when he saw the _ridiculous_ entourage of _eagles_ (eagles!) come soaring into the Great Hall just to wind up in front of that awful Potter spawn. The boy had the gall to feign disinterest even when it became clear he was the recipient, only looking surprised the moment that the obnoxiously ornate package was right in front of his face. How sickening for the boy to arrange every goddamn expression to make himself look saintly. He had everyone wrapped around his finger, but not Severus. 

_He_ knew better, and so Severus fixed his face into a sneer when Potter’s theatrics became too much to bear, and he stood to depart the Great Hall at once, unable to stand the sight of that spoilt brat playing everyone like the cheap kazoos they were. God, even Minerva was sighing at the “earnest confusion” on Potter’s face. Repulsive, utterly repulsive. And another, admittedly, strange happenstance in an even stranger week. 

For example, Severus had noticed his godson acting particularly pathetic this week, even more so than usual. Instead of picking fights with his victim of choice, he was asking all sorts of unseemly questions about _Potter_ , and he was seen following the boy everywhere. Just the day before, Severus had caught him crouching behind a suit of armour, spying on the Gryffindor brats. He had mumbled something about a jawline angle when he’d begun to rail on him ―Severus had not cared enough to remember it. He made sure to direct a particularly nasty scowl at Potter as he passed, and felt his chest tighten in anger when Potter didn’t even _notice._ Moronic little dickhead. 

He derived sadistic pleasure from taking ten housepoint away from some Hufflepuff first year who tripped on her way to some unspecified location, and the glee from her teary eyes carried him back in his office, his sanctuary from all of the bratty children he had to put up with. There, Severus poured himself a generous several fingers worth of firewhiskey from his stash. It was ten o’clock on a Friday morning, he was going to be teaching in less than an hour, and if _he_ didn’t deserve it, no one did. Anything to get him through Draco’s odd behaviour and likely incoming results of whatever Lucius’s undoubtedly existing, latest hare-brained idea. Because there _had_ to be something, if the shit he pulled when they were younger was any indication. 

Severus groaned under his breath at the mere thought; his job was already hard enough as it was―surely if it were the case, his blond arsehole of a companion would have given him a heads up? Then again, Lucius had always been the self-serving type. Suddenly, Severus was worried. So. Another glass of firewhiskey it was, then. He was halfway through his third glass of firewhiskey when Severus felt his mark burn. Clutching his throbbing arm in pain, Severus had to resist the urge to punch the wall, however plebeian it might be to do such a thing. What on Earth could the Dark Lord want _now_? He had a meeting with the insufferable Order that morning (if he heard another comment about how _greasy_ his hair was, Ghost of Albus be damned, _crucio_ s would be handed out like Halloween candy) and Severus’s patience was at an all-time low.

Apparating to Malfoy Manor with a swift crack Severus was unpleasantly surprised by the sight of Peter writhing on the floor, screaming for mercy as he thrashed under the cruciatus. The Dark Lord only ceased reluctantly as he saw Severus enter the room. 

“Severus. You are one of my most loyal followers, are you not?” the serpentine man scrutinized him as Severus hastily bowed.

Damn.

“Of course my Lord.” Severus said immediately, aware that one wrong word could make him become Nagini’s next meal. He hurriedly erected his occlumency shields the best he could, given that he’d just had three glasses of firewhiskey. Poor timing. 

The pale man in front of him smirked as Peter pathetically crawled on the ground towards the door, sobbing disgustingly. Severus found a strange sense of satisfaction in it, remembering all the times he’d participated in Potter’s harassment of him. “Draco told me a few days ago that Potter was deathly allergic to chocolates….”

Severus felt himself relax. It was just another plot to murder Potter---then why was a feeling of dread growing inside his stomach? Lucius was across the room, a little ghostly, and as Severus scrutinized his face, he began to wonder, no, he began to _worry_ that there was something truly stupid going on here. Because… _why_ would Draco _ever_ say _chocolate..._

“So, I’m sure you can imagine my disappointment when my informant from St. Mungos revealed that Potter was not allergic to anything at all.”

The Malfoy Lord gulped.

Voldemort spun his wand in his hands dramatically, and lamented, “According to dear Draco just _moments_ ago via a handsome letter, he’s not even _tried_ the chocolate cake I _personally_ picked for him! Do you have _any_ idea how insulting that is!?” his Lord’s voice ramped up into a shrill, louder tone, somehow sounding like an unholy mix between a deranged raccoon and a shrieking Walburga. “Lucius said this allergy misunderstanding was an _honest_ error and dear Draco had simply been misinformed, but…” 

“I am sure it _was_ just an innocent error, my Lord.” Severus said, hoping to keep Voldemort focused on him and the idea of waiting to crucio Draco out of his mind. “I’m sure you understand how much of dunderheads teenagers can be. Potter must have been commenting on someone else’s allergy and Draco just thought he was talking about himself. It would be the most obvious conclusion when it comes to Potter.” 

“He should have made sure his information was correct before he disturbed my―my private time.” was that a blush on Voldemort’s cheeks? “But alas, I’m sure you’re right. Can’t expect much from _children..._ but where oh where to put this anger? Ah, I know.” Then he raised his bone-white wand, pointed it towards Wormtail (who’d gotten so tantalizingly close to the door) and screamed, “ _Crucio_!” 

Wormtail screamed. Lucius and Severus both watched in mutual, mute humor as the mousy man writhed on the floor. The same thought seemed to pass between them both―that could’ve been Draco. 

“Since he is so careless, I suppose it falls to me to make sure my information is correct.” Severus twitched when Voldemort finally let off the spell. “Tell me, Severus, is Potter afraid of hair?” 

Afraid of _hair?_ Severus was going to say it was ridiculous, but he saw Lucius frantically nodding behind Voldemort, and remembered his godson’s safety was probably on the line (he knew that eventually the Dark Lord would get bored of torturing Wormtail, and despite the fact that Draco was currently in school, he knew that if the Dark Lord wanted something, almost nothing could stop him from achieving his goals.). “I am unsure, my Lord.” Voldemort raised his wand and Severus hurried to amend his statement. “But I have not spent as much time watching Potter as Draco has—” literally nobody in that history of Hogwarts has spent as much time watching someone as Draco did Potter. “—so I would trust his information. He has shown some insecurity about his hair previously.” Severus added. Voldemort looked satisfied enough and lowered his wand. 

“Dear little Draco had better be right.” Voldemort hissed. Ugh, such an unattractive sound. “If he makes a fool out of me again, I will just have to kill him.” With that, Voldemort dramatically turned and strode out of the room. Severus saw that still nobody had worked up the courage to tell Voldemort shaking his hips like that when he walked just looked silly. 

Severus waited a minute then turned to Lucius. “Hair?” Lucius’s face twitched and he seemed to hunker down in shame, and Severus saw red creeping in the corners of his eyes. “ _Hair!?_ What the _fuck_ did you get us into?” 

Lucius looked him up and down, looking mortified, and hissed in a breath to say tightly, _“Well,”_

Lucius looked forlornly at Severus, his expression causing Serverus’ anger to recede slightly. What had happened between their lord and the Malfoy family that had caused Lucius to take on such an expression of misery? Severus almost didn’t want to know.

“I’ll explain everything, but not here,” Lucius whispered, glancing at the moaning Wormtail on the floor with suspicion. Even though he knew Wormtail most likely wasn’t a threat, it was still better to be safe than sorry. 

Lucius gestured Severus to follow him out of the room. And Severus complied, storming after Lucius and cursing his friend silently under his breath. 

The moment they were alone and in a reasonably secure room, he hissed, “What. Was. That?” sending a look of pure venom at the dumb blond that had somehow managed to be his best friend for the better part of twenty odd years. “I _mean_ it Luc, what the _hell_ have you done?”

“Severus, you see…” Lucius gestured desperately with his hands before putting his face on the expensive marvel dining table, platinum hair flopping everywhere. He spotted his wife down the hall through one of the windows in the room and dashed out the door. Severus physically felt his own blood pressure rise as the guy rushed over to his wife, as if hoping that with her in the conversation he could save himself from Severus’s increasingly inevitable wrath. But as soon as Narcissa saw her husband, she only stared at him with a mix of disappointment and humiliation, as if she knew something they didn’t and her sigh was visible, even from here. Just as Severus’s molars were about to crack with the force by which he was clenching his jaw, Lucius finally turned back towards the room Severus was in, shame-faced and hand-in-hand with his wife.

The moment they meandered into the room at a temple-explodingly infuriating slow place, Severus rounded on them both. “Well?” He demanded, patience wearing thin as the alcohol he’d consumed mere minutes before began to fade, suitably scared off by the Dark Lord’s ire. 

Narcissa smartly remained silent as she unsubtly nudged her husband in the gut. “Ow! Alright, fine. Christ, woman.” Lucius got into A Stance, and then said,.”So basically,”

Oh, God save him, Lucius had used “basically”. Severus was in for it now. 

“As you know, the Dark Lord has been living in our humble home for a while,” Lucius started off slowly. Severus felt alarm grow inside him as he had never recalled the poised Malfoy to be so unsure of himself before. 

“Yes? Obviously?” He couldn’t resist adding on. “No use telling me what I already know.”

“Severus.” Narcissa said, voice dull, but Severus certainly heard the “shut up” in there.

“In summary, the Dark Lord has been doing sinful things with our candles―”

“―and desecrating all of my silk pillows,” Narcissa tacked on hurriedly. 

“―Yes, that too my dearest, and...well. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and long rationale short, we’retryingtogethimtoscrewpotter.” Lucius finished quickly in one breath. 

_“...What?”_ Severus had to say, stuck in utter disbelief. 

_Surely_ he had heard wrong,

“We’re...trying to get the Dark Lord to fuck Potter. Harry Potter.”

Severus blinked once. Then twice. Even a third time for good measure. His ears did not magically unfuck that sentence. 

“I understood all of those words _separately.”_

“Well. I’m going to need you to understand them all together, Sev. We’re trying to matchmake Potter and our Dark Lord to help the man get his rocks off and stop destroying our house with his sexual issues. Teenagers are horny. They like doing what they shouldn’t. It just made sense at the time, and now we’re in so deep that we’re not abandoning it. ” 

The truth of the sentence hit Severus like the fucking Hogwarts Express.

”I...I cannot _believe_ I’m friends with you people,” Severus said helplessly, looking for a chair to sink dramatically into. “ _Candles? Pillows? Potter?”_ Severus hated Potter’s guts, but not enough to wish Voldemort’s _affections_ on him, _Jesus fucking Christ. “_ Oh my God, I should’ve just gone to Jamaica with my aunt all those years ago. What the _fuck.”_

Severus finally found a chair to throw himself into dramatically and did just that, laying his head on the table and pretending to not see Narcissa wince at the grease that slid off his hair onto the priceless marble.

He ignored how Lucius joined him. “Have you gone _mad?”_ He finally settled on whispering incredulously. 

Narcissa sighed and went to fiddle with a cabinet nearby. It was quiet for several moments, but she padded back over soon enough, and to his relief, this angel of a woman brought over three glasses brimming full of vodka. “It’s honestly not as bad as it sounds Severus. Our lord has been… _defiling_ much of our prized belongings for a while now, so we thought it would be a good idea for him to release that pent up energy on something else.” Severus still wasn’t convinced. 

“Then tell me why the poor person you have chosen to entertain our genocidal, slightly psychopathic dark lord is his _arch nemesis?_ Surely there must be better options!” he shot at the Malfoy family, the warm burn of the vodka starting to loosen his tongue. “Narcissa, I cannot _believe_ you let Lucius talk you into this! This is the guy who―who thought lacrosse was a fake sport for _years!”_

Narcissa gave him a shameful sort of look, and nursed her own drink without responding.

Lucius sniffed haughtily, completely ignoring the implication of Severus’s comment. “I never _stopped_ thinking that and you won’t fool me―lacrosse is _not_ real.”

There. There was a _lot_ Severus could say in response to that, but he just shook his head and knocked back more of his vodka. It was _not_ worth it. 

He watched in disdain as Lucius primly took out a tiny comb from his pocket to fix his disheveled hair and tried not to listen as he spoke. “Perhaps you would like to be the one to engage our lord in his carnal desires my old friend? You _are_ one of his most trusted.” 

Severus leapt from the table and _away_ from Lucius, choking on air for a long, long minute before he could even begin managing to convey his thoughts in a calm manner. “I―no, _absolutely_ not, but Potter is only _just_ of age! And, might I remind, his _arch enemy!_ And―and isn’t the Dark Lord old enough to be his _grandfather?_ Besides, you have no way of convincing him to―to _get with_ our Dark Lord―the guy _murdered_ his parents, I―don’t you two dunderheads see that this is _hopeless!?”_

Narcissa smirked, the corner of her lips twisting up ominously. “Not so hopeless if you would be willing to give them a little push. What do you say?”

Severus looked between her and Lucius. He looked back down at his glass. Up at the two of them again, and slowly began to shake his head. 

“That’s just what I thought you’d say, you dumb fucking blondes,” and seized his glass to down the remainder of his vodka is hearty, too-fast swigs. 

He got called blondephobic for all of his troubles, but since he was now far too drunk to teach (oh, fuck, he was missing his fifth year class) Severus was forced to stay behind and listen to some of the deeper rationale. As they got deeper into their explanations, Severus was forced to acknowledge the _tiny_ nugget of reason there…but utterly refused to ignore how it shaped up to the dump-truck sized hunk of “what the _fuck_ are you talking about.” He went through a mental checklist of everything he could do or could have done before this moment to avoid getting Potter and the Dark Lord in bed, and when he found that list lacking, he very, very reluctantly agreed to the plan, if only to make Lucius shut up.

God, the astronomy tower seemed very inviting suddenly. 

“This is how it's going to work…” Lucius began, and there again came that goddamned, “So, basically,”

There was such a subtle, manic gleam in his eyes that Severus couldn’t quite shove off a terrible, rising feeling of foreboding.

 _‘Jamaica,’_ he thought again. _‘Should’ve just gone to fucking Jamaica. Hope Aunt Eleanor is doing alright.’_

* * *

The tension in the air was thicker than Harry’s luscious asscheeks as the group surrounding him waited for him to make the next call with bated breath. This was the shit he lived for―leaving people on the edges of their seats by his own talent. He knew he’d gotten their attention when he’d clapped and said _“OH.”_ mere minutes ago, and it was paying off now. _God,_ it felt good when people looked at you with starry eyes because of something you _actually_ did. 

"Alright, _Ginevra.”_ He deliberately used her whole name to piss her off, and, after pausing for dramatic effect, he leaned forward and nearly whispered, louder than a gunshot in the quiet room, “Fuck, marry, or kill: Lord Voldemort, Nicolas Flamel, and Dolores Umbridge, " 

The room _erupted_ into titters and giggling whispers. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Harry.” Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate. “ _Gross.”_

But, perhaps surprising them all, Ginny said almost immediately, "Well, I guess I’d have to knife Umbridge because she’s a fucking cunt and I hope she’s dead and, like, I can’t really take out Flamel anyway. Bloke has the Philosopher’s Stone, he’d just pop back and be like 'what the hell,' but like, I don’t want to marry Moldyshorts because he seems like the kind of guy who puts his boxers _next_ to the hamper, right? So I guess I’d have to take on that wrinkly old stud Flamel as my husband, yeah? And so obviously, I’d fuck Voldemort.” And then she shrugged, as if a single snippet of that soliloquy had made a lick of sense. 

Something in Harry’s head misfired at the use of “obviously."

 _'Obviously_ fuck Voldemort'. He couldn’t make sense of that at _all. Did_ he really hear that right?

W. H. A. T.

After several seconds of awkward silence, Ginny clarified between the two of them, "I mean, come _on,_ Harry. We both saw the bloke when he was a youngun, and hot _damn._ Yes, I was seconds away from dying, but even when I was on the ground I was definitely thinking, “Okay, fine, death is acceptable if it’s from this handsome son of a bitch. Seriously, you _cannot_ tell me you didn't thirst over him."

Oh. OH.

Harry reared back with a new found realization―the sharp jawline, the smooth cheekbones, the dark curly hair that brushed the side of his forehead, those long lashes that perfectly framed his intense dark eyes.

Well, fuck.

“I was a bit preoccupied with the huge fucking snake,” He said weakly, and drew back, trying not to think about how, even back at age twelve, he’d stopped to ogle Tom Riddle for _just_ a bare couple seconds. “But, whatever. Good answer. Your turn, now.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on. _What’s_ this about a huge snake and Weasley almost kicking the bucket?”

Harry, if he was being honest, tuned out the rest of the game from there and sort of zombie-walked back up to his dorm when everyone finally decided to call it quits. He justj just far too busy processing his suddenly recognized desire to get dicked down by old Tommy R. _Why_ had Ginny had to say that? It was too late for a sexuality crisis, dammit. But no, now all he’d been able to think about for the last _several hours_ was how much he’d like for those strong, long hands to just pin him down and take whatever they wanted. Tom Riddle had grown up in a war, right? He’d probably worked in factories, with all the labor―Goddamn, there was every possibility that Tom Riddle was _swol,_ and that was―that was _hot_ and _nonono._ Voldemort. This was _Voldemort_ he was thinking about. The dude who’d _murdered his parents? ‘Remember, horny brain?’_

 _‘Eh, you were a baby. You didn’t even know them,’_ His heartless bastard of a horny brain said back and Harry screwed his face up in disgust. 

“Holy hell,” He said, shame writhing in his chest, and he flopped into his bed. 

To Harry's mortification, these thoughts wouldn't leave him alone even in bed and he fell into a restless sleep with uncomfortable arousal still thrumming in the back of his mind, only barely remembering to cast a silencing charm on the curtains. He had a horrible, sneaking suspicion that the charm might be particularly useful tonight. 

And of course, right when he least wanted to be, Harry was absolutely correct: his dreams did indeed become a moralistic nightmare. Harry almost screamed when his brain decided it was, apparently, _time to fuck_ and there, standing right in front of him, was suddenly the wonderful visage of the one, the only _Childmort_. That was the _only_ way Harry would refer to Voldemort when he still looked like Tom Riddle because if he did anything less, this would get really awkwardly personal really fucking fast. Just as fast as this dream was moving, because good _God,_

"Not now," Harry groaned, even as the man prowled closer and smirked his stupid smirk and Harry let out a string of strangled noises at the feeling of his dick hardening unmistakably. That should _not_ have happened so quickly. "God _dammit,_ fuck. _Why._ "

“Why not?”

Oh sweet Jesus on a sailboat, even his _voice_ was hot. _Fuck_ him. 

“That can be arranged, darling.” Shit. _Shit._ Not at all heeding his―honestly less than half-hearted―protests, Childmort sauntered closer, hips swaying tantalizingly with every step until he was standing almost chest to chest with Harry, _towering_ over him. Harry had never hated his own height as much as he did right now) Childmort leaned down until their eyes were almost level, and Harry's breath hitched . The back of his mind tingled slightly, like someone was watching, but Tom―no, _no,_ dammit, _Childmort_ smelled so nice and looked so pretty that he...couldn't bring himself to care.

"Why are you so fucking tall?" He complained instead, voice barely higher than a whisper. "And why is your hair as stupidly perfect as it was back then? My brain is being _mean_ to me." Harry cast an accusing gaze up to the sky, or at least, what he thought was the sky. The entire setting was rather vague, really, which also didn't help because it forced his attention back to Gratuitously Hot Voldemort, who was presently running his stupidly flawless, large hands over Harry's sides.

The hands tightened near-painfully on his waist, fingers digging in slightly and Harry's breath caught, his hands snapping up to curl in the man's robes. To his annoyance, Childmort said nothing, just smirked wider and moved his hands down, pushing Harry's trousers down in the same motion so they pooled at his ankles.

“Oh shit,” Harry panicked slightly as those fingers pulled at his boxers, freeing his cock, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_ He took Tom―dammit, it was _Childmort―_ by the lapels of his robe and tugged him closer just to hide his face in his shirt, gasping into it when Gratuitously Hot Voldemort wrapped his hand around his cock and gave it a firm tug. “Why is this so realistic?” Harry sobbed to nobody in particular. Childmort ignored him and simply kept working his hand over Harry’s rock-hard dick in the perfect, fleeting way only a wet dream fuck-buddy could.

“Would you come for me, little dove? Knowing just who I am? What I could _do_ to you?” Ch―Ch― _Tom_ crooned into his ears, making Harry shudder terribly. “What I’ve done already?”

 _“Guh―”_ Harry could only get out a pitiful, whinging little sound when Tom curled his calloused, long fingers underneath the head of his cock _just_ right. “T― _Tom,_ come _on,”_

“Would you let yourself fall for me?” Tom was just about _growling_ now, and somehow they were laying down and Harry’s toes were curling, thighs trembling― “Would you let go of the spider’s thread?” 

Spider's...thread? Oh. Morals. Tom was giving him grief over his own internal crisis. 

“My morality is a _steel fucking cable,_ you _arsehole―”_ Harry hissed through a whimper, and in a split-second decision, he lunged downwards to seize at Tom’s cock too. “And I’m not going to be the only bitch cumming in this dream tonight.”

“Bazinga, motherfucker,” Tom whispered tightly in Harry’s ear as everything faded into darkness, and Harry woke up in a cold sweat and with suspiciously damp boxers. 

He laid there in silence for a very, _very_ long moment. 

“Fuck,” he said. “ _Fuck_.”

Well, in the end he _did_ cum for Kiddiemort.

* * *

Draco paced around the Slytherin dormitories as he tried to take out the mix of furiousness, self loathing and his wounded pride on the hardwood floor. 

It was all Voldemort’s fault! He’d never even entertain the thought in the psychopath’s presence, but once he stepped back and drew a timeline of his life, the majority of the horrible events in his life started with the snake-man’s return. Like, ninety-nine percent. He’d expected that percentage to go to Potter, but _apparently_ not. Goddammit. 

Draco did not sulk about it, he did _not,_ but he did reflect on his trainwreck of his life with dignity―alright, _fine_ he was sulking―and the Slytherin part of him reared its head. 

_‘Why not get revenge? The snake man practically ruined your life and tore apart your family. Even your own mother doesn’t have time for you anymore!’_ It hissed, and _wow_ it was such a dangerous thought, and maybe for a moment Draco was tempted to get back at the most dangerous Dark Lord in modern history because of his family problems, but then sense slapped him in the face with the authority of a wet fish. Oh, curses, he really _did_ have some Gryffindor in him. 

“Shut up.” he said out loud, stopping his pacing to sit down on the cold dungeon floor. 

It was a cold night and Draco was beginning to regret not bringing out an extra cardigan. _‘He doesn’t even have to know’_ continued the tempting voice. Draco shook his head, as if trying to talk himself out of the inevitable last act of his short pathetic life. 

“It’s not like I have any leverage or special information on him anyways.” he mumbled to himself, as if orating the words would be more effective at making the dumb voice in his head shut up, and his eyes narrowed when he spied two Slytherin second years laugh at the sight of him talking to air. 

Two years ago he had commanded _respect in Slytherin,_ and no one would dare to look him the wrong way, much less openly mock him! This made up Draco’s mind, and he gathered all the letters from his parents to scan for anything potentially damning to the Dark Lord. 

“Insecurity over hair, too much sugar in coffee, aha!” Draco yelled in delight. “ _Candles!_ Of course!” Running to find Harry Potter eagerly, Draco was a sight to the rest of the castle with mussed up hair (gasps could be heard), hitched up robes and knocking down anyone who dared stop him on his warpath. 

“POTTAH I HAVE SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOOOWWW!!!” echoed through the castle, and students exchanged galleons wondering if the blonde was finally going to confess; even the reserved Neville shamefully gave the grinning Zabini two sickles.

So. You could imagine their surprise when instead, Draco announced loudly to the denizens of the castle, “THE DARK LORD’S GREATEST WEAKNESS IS _CANDLES!_ THAT BALD MORON IS SCARED OF _CANDLES!”_

Potter looked at Malfoy in utter bewilderment. “Wh―”


End file.
